Letters to My Future Bride

I’m sitting in this same room, the room I’ve lived in for ten years now, lit only by the screen’s quiet glow. A drop of rain only occasionally lands on the roof. I have to be up for work in four hours.

And I can’t sleep.

“Of course he can’t,” a voice in my head says. “He has a full mind and empty heart. Empty one or fill the other.”

And maybe that’s true. I would certainly love to change that balance, and maybe find peace in life.

Thoughts do race in my head tonight…thoughts of the future, of the present, of work and ambition and…and of you. It would be cruel to hope you are having a sleepless night too, but shades of destiny like that would make for good stories one day.

I’m not fitful; I just can’t fall asleep. For the first time in months, I reach for my earphones and hope somehow the music can soothe me since darkness can’t. I doubt it will work.

I think of those nights when neither of us can sleep, where we just lie quietly in bed together and talk. A slow song comes on my player, and I can see us slowly dancing together, out on a dance floor or in the darkness of our living room. I can imagine the freedom and exhilaration that comes when I first realize that I love you, that you’re the one, and the liberation that comes from the first time I tell you.

I think of the comfort and bliss so tender and serene when you soothe me. Pulling me in close, laying my head against your heart: “All my agony fades away when you hold me in your embrace.” It’s enough to sprout tears of joy and happiness.

I can hear you say my name. The smallest of deeds with the greatest of meanings. Darling, of all the words, in all the languages in all the lands of all the world, the one thing I want to hear most is my name on your lips, spoken with love and kindness. I want to hear you thank me for living a life of preparation and waiting for you. I want to know that it was worth it. I want to hear the relief in your voice when you trust me and know that your walls can finally come down completely, that we can share all the things written in our hearts. I want to see you laugh and cry at the same time. I want time for us to be nothing else but us, and nowhere else but together. I yearn for sighs of content, not melancholy.

It’s been a busy two days off. It always is…I don’t know any pace but fast. I’m balancing two jobs, home life and my double life. Days I don’t work are full of bustle and busy.

They say that’s life. I need something more real than that. I need a life that fills my heart as well as my head. I need that love and that support, the kind I’ve lived without for so many long and lonely years.

I need you.

I’ve been waiting so long now…so long. I may not be sleepy tonight, but I am tired. Some days, I think all I’ve ever been is tired.

At times I think I see a face in the crowd, that I recognize the you I haven’t met yet, and when I find it’s not you, it’s just another let-down. Finding you is a hope beyond hope.

You are my greatest ambition. All those silly, sappy words about dying a little bit every day are true. They’re only called sappy by hearts embittered or wearied of that refrain.

I’ve always wanted to leave a legacy. Not a legacy of vanity with my name on buildings and signs, but a legacy of deeds, a harvest my Father can be proud of, an example that can inspire others to be better. Sometimes I wonder why I try, or if all this striving is worth it. I’ve always imagined I’d never retire, but I now see why people do. They want peace. They want to stop fighting and find tranquility and harmony in this life.

More than ever, I want that, and need it.

More than ever, I want and need you, and to find solace and comfort somewhere else besides a computer screen on nights like tonight.

Nothing serious. Just here and there, once or twice. That itself makes me sad, because to me, “dating” is serious business. How much graver of a ponderance can the mind weigh than the heart and soul of a would-be wife?

It’s enough to send one into yet another tailspin of despair. I’m staving it off with the promises of Providence, but my gosh, how dark the world is.

It does make me realize the thought process that goes into evaluating a woman. I always told myself I wouldn’t write them down, but these thoughts are for you as much as anybody, you may as well hear them. And besides which, if you haven’t already figured out, I often write my thoughts out to promote order and unity among them.

Besides which, let’s face it, everyone does some rough mental calculus about a person we’re sizing up for long-term potential. So what questions do I ask myself about a girl when evaluating her?

1) How deep is herfaith?
Your faith, my dear, must be so avid and so devout. Your heart must be so wrapped up in the Father that I must fall on bended knee before Him and plead for it.

2) How does she spend her time?
Time is so valuable and precious. I don’t believe in wasting it. (That also means I don’t know how to relax, but you know that already.) Does a girl spend it on mindless pursuits like constant movies and video games? Or does she spend time going places and doing things, working out, cleaning up, taking care of herself and others? Does she volunteer somewhere? Or, on the less desirable end of the scale (where we find me sometimes), is she a workaholic?

3) How does she dress?
Don’t mistake this for vanity, Darling. But how we dress says a great deal about us. If it did not, clothing would not be such a huge industry. There are, of course, style variances. I am immediately concerned if you are showing cleavage or too much skin, and I’m not exactly warmed up if there is an abundance of makeup or trendy fashion. I just love a girl that can be graceful in her own skin, dignified, attractive, tasteful and traditional in her clothing.

4) How does she speak?
How dismayed I am to hear the tongues of fair young maidens drag their creator through the dirt! I understand a foul word under stress or grave circumstances, but I desperately hope to find you, my dear bride, with lips unstained by the vice of vulgarity. Still further, I crave that constancy and comfort of conversation, deep, intellectual and never-ending.

5) How does she treat sinners…and sin?
How often we hear, love the sinner, hate the sin. But this has limits. There are times the sinful brother or sister must be shunned, and fellowship must be broken or limited with those of the world who reject the light of Christ. I work among unbelievers constantly, but I am not congruent or compatible with them. There are some things that cannot be smiled upon or accepted.

I live in a dream world to seek positive answers in today’s world.

I’ll keep living there. The Lord wouldn’t impress these qualities on my heart if He did not have in mind somebody to fit them.

“We are creatures of the sun, we men and women. We love light and life. That is why we crowd into the towns and cities, and the country grows more and more deserted every year. In the sunlight—in the daytime, when Nature is alive and busy all around us, we like the open hill-sides and the deep woods well enough: but in the night, when our Mother Earth has gone to sleep, and left us waking, oh! the world seems so lonesome, and we get frightened, like children in a silent house. Then we sit and sob, and long for the gas-lit streets, and the sound of human voices, and the answering throb of human life. We feel so helpless and so little in the great stillness, when the dark trees rustle in the night-wind. There are so many ghosts about, and their silent sighs make us feel so sad. Let us gather together in the great cities, and light huge bonfires of a million gas-jets, and shout and sing together, and feel brave.”

Dear Darling,

Tonight, in absolute silence behind the cover of clouds, and accompanied by an unusual evening chill, the sun set.

Our world slowly drifted back into darkness as evening descended, our daylight off away to warm the other side of the world for a time.

One more day over. 24 hours of busywork, productivity, laziness and labor washed into the history books by nightfall. A day’s deeds now transformed into nothing but memory, with its consequences and after-affects promising to cascade into our waking and even sleeping hours in the days to follow.

What did I do with these hours? I worked.

They call it the weekend, and the average man looks forward to these hours as “time off.” I worked twenty of them.

I like running and staying busy. It leaves less time for the thoughts to catch up. Alas, my thoughts are persistent and spry little buggers, quite capable of keeping up with me, and spearing my mind with that persistent, wistful loneliness that comes from knowing I’m missing something (someone) who isn’t here yet. Every hour of the day is undergirded by that knowledge.

My days on this earth now number more than 9500. Each one of them has chiseled and carved me just a little bit. And each of them brings me one step closer to you.

Every hour of our complete and utter happiness of being together is being dearly bought and paid for now, darling. Like Jacob’s seven years of hard labor, I am toiling under my Father’s supervision (and, I hope, earning His blessing and His favor!) to meet His approval, and yours.

One day. 24 hours. A single step closer to you.

I know the path has already been a long, and you tire of staring backwards at miles and miles of your own solitary footsteps. Be patient, dear. In God’s timing, we shall pass even these dull hours together in bliss.

Love Always,
-Beren

“And yet it seems so full of comfort and of strength, the night. In its great presence, our small sorrows creep away, ashamed. The day has been so full of fret and care, and our hearts have been so full of evil and of bitter thoughts, and the world has seemed so hard and wrong to us. Then Night, like some great loving mother, gently lays her hand upon our fevered head, and turns our little tear-stained faces up to hers, and smiles; and, though she does not speak, we know what she would say, and lay our hot flushed cheek against her bosom, and the pain is gone.

Sometimes, our pain is very deep and real, and we stand before her very silent, because there is no language for our pain, only a moan. Night’s heart is full of pity for us: she cannot ease our aching; she takes our hand in hers, and the little world grows very small and very far away beneath us, and, borne on her dark wings, we pass for a moment into a mightier Presence than her own, and in the wondrous light of that great Presence, all human life lies like a book before us, and we know that Pain and Sorrow are but the angels of God.

Only those who have worn the crown of suffering can look upon that wondrous light; and they, when they return, may not speak of it, or tell the mystery they know.”

“Here’s to the girl who gave love a whirl, and found a world falling apart; She gave love a chance in her one dalliance; returning all broken of heart.”

Dear Darling,

I see them out there constantly, don’t you? The girls that have been railroaded by what they thought was love.

Now don’t think for a moment I spare men. Perhaps my assumption of their character is so low that, while I do not excuse their behavior, they are such fools that they do not surprise me.

Women are such wondrous, graceful creatures; their foolishness surprises me.

Sometimes, they meet me and they are reminded of what they could have had. Darned if that doesn’t just eat me up inside.

Or sometimes, they meet me and think they’ve finally found what they didn’t know they were looking for — a noble end to their long and storied wanderings.

I wish there was something I could do…I wish I could give them all a part of me.

Darling, this may sound arrogant. Please believe me, such remarks come only from a sad and lonely heart, lamenting the human condition not just because it renders him an isolated romantic nomad, but lamenting it for its own sake.

Let me explain.

I am secure in the knowledge that my love goes beyond feeling. I know altogether well the resolve in my heart to love, honor, cherish, protect you. I know that these are the virtues a woman deserves, even if she does not earn them. And I know that I can provide them. Is a builder arrogant for laboring many years to establish a strong roots, a solid foundation and sturdy walls? By God’s grace, I have sought — or, asked God to — sculpt and shape me into the man my wife would desire.

In short, I know I cannot treat a woman perfectly, but I know I can treat her well, and those are better odds than I would give any dozen men she might find on the open market.

But as I mentioned before, relationships are the one area where I get to be selfish.

I know I could never make you happy unless I woke up every day basking in the quiet revelry and happiness of love. And as I’ve explained before, somehow in my narrow mind, that joy is diminished by the notion of sharing you with the past, with your memories, with other men. I feel a need, an ache for that clean slate on which we may both begin, whole, unspoiled, new, fresh, clean.

Ah, but I dwell once again too keenly on that subject. I write merely to say I find it sad and ironic to see women now…and who they could once have been.

People desire to be good, or even great. But few of them take the steps necessary to achieve those goals. I truly do wish I could give all of them the gift I’ve cultivated and stand ready to give to you.

And so, in your absence, my love burns unabated and enduring, awaiting only the magic of your eyes, the sound of your laughter and the warmth of your embrace to unlock its doors.

“Yeah, you and me we can ride on a star If you stay with me, girl, We can rule the world Yeah, you and me we can light up the sky If you stay by my side, we can rule the world.”– Take That

Dear Darling,

It is time to tell you about my secret identity.

No, I don’t wear a uniform or a mask, or fight crime. But it is a double life, one outside of my two jobs, and one I seldom inform my co-workers. It’s a life that causes most people to wonder why I don’t pursue it full-time. It’s a life I could get well-paid to do full-time. And it’s only fair I tell you about it now.

No, I can’t tell you what it is. Silly…that would compromise the identity. Don’t worry, you’ll find out when you get here.

But it is political. And it does involve some pretty cool moonlighting. It means meeting important people at times, and flying around the country to appear at events, debates or conferences. It involves being on TV and radio programs, and in the newspapers.

It has been an incredible opportunity for the Lord to drop amazing circumstances into my life. It has also been an opportunity to see “important” people…how they live, work and act. Don’t get me wrong, I like putting on a suit and tie and being important for a little while. But I find living that kind of life full-time to be hollow and unsatisfying. Although I believe that my future echoes with a call of greater importance from on High, for now I make it my ambition to lead the quiet life of tending my own business and working with my hands.

Importance is a means to an end, dear, just as riches are. I can’t shake the feeling that both will be given to me some day, but not gifts to be cherished, hoarded or preserved, but gifts intended to be spent and spread, almost as quickly as possible.

A funnel carries with it an abundance, but is a channel, not a vessel. It cannot fulfill its purpose if it ceases to flow.

Are you equal to such a task? Would you mind if cameras were on you a lot, or if people wanted to interview you for being my bride? Would you like to learn how to speak to crowds, to use a new-found influence to help change lives? Would you be willing to be the gracious and gentle wife of someone suddenly become “important” and would you be stern enough to help me to resist the grasp of pride in that hour? Would you be willing to watch your man carry such a heavy yoke, bear him up as he grapples with right and wrong, and watch his hair turn gray from the stress of work? Would you be willing to lay those pleasures and burdens aside with dignity?

I think God is using these times and these experiences to train me for the future. If I’m right, He’s also training you.

Maybe one of us isn’t done training yet. Maybe it’s me. We both know there’s a reason He’s keeping us apart for now. And I know we both struggle with that sometimes. I think we’ll begin to wake up a little more as the time of our meeting draws closer.

If that’s true, then Darling, I’m right around the corner. Watch and wait for me. I’ll be there as soon as I can.

No matter what life brings us, I hope you can always see me as that hero…and that I can always be worthy of that role.

“What would I not have given to one of them. Though I never could have been so rude, no, no! I wouldn’t for the wealth of all the world have crushed that braided hair, and torn it down; and for the precious little shoe, I wouldn’t have plucked it off, God bless my soul! to save my life. As to measuring her waist in sport, as they did, bold young brood, I couldn’t have done it; I should have expected my arm to have grown round it for a punishment, and never come straight again. And yet I should have dearly liked, I own, to have touched her lips; to have questioned her, that she might have opened them; to have looked upon the lashes of her downcast eyes, and never raised a blush; to have let loose waves of hair, an inch of which would be a keepsake beyond price: in short, I should have liked, I do confess, to have had the lightest licence of a child, and yet to have been man enough to know its value.” – Dickens

Dear Darling,

I’m a touch-aphobic.

At least I was. And maybe “phobia” is the wrong word to use. I’m just not (wasn’t) very touchy-feely.

It’s not like I didn’t get hugs from my parents growing up or anything…in fact, there’s nothing I appreciate more than a touch on the arm. I’m even becoming quite a hugger, which is new. But I’m sensitive to touch. I usually flinch if someone touches my arm during conversation, or taps me on the back to get my attention. I’m just on high alert I guess.

You’d laugh if I told you the jobs I’ve had where touching is a mandatory and entirely frequent activity I perform. God has a sense of humor, and in his mercy He seems to have given me an extraordinary ability to muscle past my reservations and hesitations and just get a job done. I’m grateful to Him for that.

I don’t know why this sensitivity is, especially evaluating it against society’s standards. One of those things that makes me either weird or normal, depending on which population you compare me to. But it also means I’m going to appreciate those little gestures and caresses that much more together.

I see them out there every day. Lovers, giving each other little touches in public. A hand on the back, an arm around the shoulder, a sweet and absent-minded caress across the arm. (I’m quite the people-watcher you know.) How lightly they take for granted those parting kisses!

It’s said that to be truly happy, Man must live wholly in the present, holding neither regrets of the past nor fears of the future. None of us achieves that kind of happiness completely, but I wonder if these couples live even partially in the moment, wonder if they appreciate the value of their touch.

One of the most poignant and wonderful books I’ve ever read was Les Miserables. It is the typical classic — a book everyone wants to have read, but no one wants to read. It is long and at times dull, but immensely rewarding, and contains a wonderful and grossly overlooked love story between Marius and Cosette. These two finally find each other, and plight their troth in the garden.

“Throughout the whole of the month of May of that year 1832, there were there, in every night, in that poor, neglected garden, beneath that thicket which grew thicker and more fragrant day by day, two beings composed of all chastity, all innocence, overflowing with all the felicity of heaven, nearer to the archangels than to mankind, pure, honest, intoxicated, radiant, who shone for each other amid the shadows. It seemed to Cosette that Marius had a crown, and to Marius that Cosette had a nimbus. They touched each other, they gazed at each other, they clasped each other’s hands, they pressed close to each other; but there was a distance which they did not pass. Not that they respected it; they did not know of its existence. Marius was conscious of a barrier, Cosette’s innocence; and Cosette of a support, Marius’ loyalty. The first kiss had also been the last. Marius, since that time, had not gone further than to touch Cosette’s hand, or her kerchief, or a lock of her hair, with his lips. For him, Cosette was a perfume and not a woman. He inhaled her. She refused nothing, and he asked nothing. Cosette was happy, and Marius was satisfied. They lived in this ecstatic state which can be described as the dazzling of one soul by another soul. It was the ineffable first embrace of two maiden souls in the ideal. Two swans meeting on the Jungfrau.

At that hour of love, an hour when voluptuousness is absolutely mute, beneath the omnipotence of ecstasy, Marius, the pure and seraphic Marius, would rather have gone to a woman of the town than have raised Cosette’s robe to the height of her ankle. Once, in the moonlight, Cosette stooped to pick up something on the ground, her bodice fell apart and permitted a glimpse of the beginning of her throat. Marius turned away his eyes.

What took place between these two beings? Nothing. They adored each other.

…

This chaste, almost shy love was not devoid of gallantry, by any means. To pay compliments to the woman whom a man loves is the first method of bestowing caresses, and he is half audacious who tries it. A compliment is something like a kiss through a veil. Voluptuousness mingles there with its sweet tiny point, while it hides itself. The heart draws back before voluptuousness only to love the more.” – Hugo

Beautiful.

The reputation of a man is to be “all arms” and seek his gratification from a woman’s body, with or without her consent. Yet, how could I disrespect you, or any woman? It seems often that I respect a woman more than she respects herself.

In truth, I began by questioning myself as to whether or not it would be a problem to know you have kissed another man before. I hope you find that as ironic as I do. I suppose part of those sentiments is just pure jealousy. I have few friends that truly, genuinely care like that, let alone have the opportunities to express affection physically.

Anyway Darling, if I abstain from a great deal of physical contact in the beginning, you must not take this as a sign of disapproval or dislike. Quite the opposite. You are being elevated to a position of a sort-of reverence. Believe me, when the time comes, there will be no hesitations or reservations.

I look forward to every single one of them, the times when I can show you I care with a simple touch. Cupping your face in my hands. Sweeping your hair out of your eyes, or pulling a renegade eyelash away. Tracing the curve of your chin, rubbing the back of your neck, and so many more that prudence and discretion forbid.

I dare not even imagine the chills and joys of you returning those favors.

About

Welcome. You’ve stumbled upon the secretest of treasure troves; love letters to a woman I’ve never met. Luthien, the love of my life, my future bride. Until time and time’s Author release her to me, I am hiding the poems, laments and love-sick lullabies tucked away here, in a quiet corner until we meet; private words spoken publicly. You are invited to tread among these sacred thoughts, and may by some grace be encouraged in your wait, and to remember your own love, your own value and the precious rewards of waiting.

Your comments, likes and shares are welcome. If you have questions, a letter may find its way to my door if addressed to LetterstoLuthien, by way of the courier known as Yahoo.